


Through the silence of fireflies

by little_fella (na_shao)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Crossdressing, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Lingerie, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Post-Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 06:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12525224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/na_shao/pseuds/little_fella
Summary: Grace, and wonder, and the overwhelming realisation that Credence ishis,with a ring on his finger, with dawn breathing in his lungs and a cold kiss to lessen the blow of the past.





	Through the silence of fireflies

**Author's Note:**

> An old piece that I'm eventually posting after hesitating for a while.
> 
> Title comes from Woodkid's _Baltimore's fireflies._
> 
> I hope you enjoy this and I will now proceed to go back to my batcave to hide. /o/

  

 

 

There’s a slight knock on the door of Percival’s study that night and he sighs, pushing aside his files with the tips of his fingers as another minute of time brings forth its big, dancing grains of sand _(oh, if the quartz in there could only reflect light and not years, bright days and not nightmares)._

”Yes?”

Dark curls first appear as Credence opens the door, and then his face, looking unsure, limbs all snuggled up in one of his husband’s cardigans that’s clearly too large for him. He’s wearing a soft smile upon his carmine lips, and Percival tries not to mimic his expression _(why wouldn’t you? Are you so proud, too proud you wouldn’t want to give this to him, Percival? To Credence? Credence, who’s your whole world and an ardent river you have walked along together, a delicious rising breeze that brought life back to your sliced veins?)_ but it’s so difficult not to considering how _beautiful_ his other half is— considering how much Percival loves him, despite the headache that has settled in his temples, despite the blood-stained memories that threaten to sweep him under.

”You’ve been working really hard today,” Credence murmurs, coming closer, his arms wrapped around himself to keep the cardigan from falling off his frame. He is looking straight at him, a lick of coal hair curling against his cheek and eyes shadowed under the dim desk lamp in use. ”I thought that you needed a little... _something._ ”

Percival eyes him curiously, taking off his reading glasses in favor of observing his husband who’s almost flush against him now; his long, pale legs are shaped like liquid gasoline thanks to the black, silk stockings he’s wearing, and there’s a tightness in Graves’ throat that he can’t seem to shrug off, bloating like the moon at night, high in the cloudless, metallic sky.

”Are you—” he starts, organs growing thicker with blood in their plush pockets, and fully stops at the sight unveiled before him.

Credence lets go of the cardigan and reveals nothing but a pair of dark, lace panties and silk stockings on his body. The black shade is a stark contrast on Credence's creamy thighs, still branded with Percival’s hickeys from the previous night, and _Mercy Lewis,_ he just cannot stop _staring_ at the perfect picture the younger man draws in volumes of peachy flesh and smoky swirls _,_ scarlet lips and cherry-pink knuckles rendered coloured with the touch of cold.

_Grace._

One of the many things that comes to Percival—

Grace, and wonder, and the overwhelming realisation that Credence is _his_ , with a ring on his finger, with dawn breathing in his lungs and a cold kiss to lessen the blow of the past.

Credence crawls on Percival's lap like a cat, agile and precise, and ends up straddling him in his chair between his silk-shaped legs. The older man just relishes in the feel of the dainty fabric against the rough skin of his palms, and he can’t stop staring at his boy, lace panties stretching across the expanse of his ass and the curves of his body being accentuated so nicely by it.

Percival presses a kiss to his throat, lets his fingers slip inside the black panties, and there's already wetness here when he finds Credence's hole, practically swallowing the slick, sticky fingers with a bare thrust.

"You've already prepared yourself for me, my love?" he asks as he looks into Credence's bright eyes, who simply nods and throws his head back a little more for his husband to have a better access to his throat, his soft curls cascading like a river of black gold across his shoulders and back, his body now on display for Percival— a beautiful, brilliant canvas, a galaxy of raven feathers and exploding silver with the Obscurus moulding itself to his husband’s skin; second skin and own self; _himself_ at last.

The rush escaping his mouth— how it betrays his upbringing with defiance and light. “Wanted you to claim your prize easily,” Credence breathes out, and he grinds his hips in delight.

"What a perfect darling you are," Percival whispers; he sucks a hickey in his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there and licking the fresh bump of redness left in its wake. Credence moans, his body electric blue and tightening in anticipation as Percival kisses him wetly, grabbing his generous hips and pushing him closer. "Such a good boy for me. You’re so pretty, baby.”

A thousand emotions flicker across Credence’s face, embarrassment but mostly love and affection because he loves this, loves pleasing Percival and loves basking in the warmth of an identity he finally feels at peace with. It makes him shudder when his husband drags his fingertips over the hard, lace-covered bulge just barely contained by the panties; he can’t help but let out a soft whimper, feeling himself growing harder on the spot.

Percival cups Credence’s already half-hard cock, stroking and pressing the rough material against the slit, making the younger man hiss and moan harder, the head of his cock shiny-slick with anticipation and pressing into his stomach painfully. He moves to suck at his husband’s neck again, doesn’t stop, never does as he pushes the lace aside; parts his cheeks a little and sloppily lubes his fingers before sinking them inside; then two, then three, and Credence is a mess, imploding like a dark mass whose sparkles of gray ashes crawl upon his skin— and soon enough, Percival’s cock is out of his trousers before he lubes himself up and pushes into Credence, who moans in return at the new feeling of being filled completely by the man he loves— insides filling up, the pressure, the stretch, the ache, _the pleasure_ , the need to have this and be branded and be completely _owned._

"You really do look so pretty, baby,” Percival purrs in his ear, and Credence starts opening his mouth as if to say something, but it just comes out as another moan, bigger and stronger than the previous one. Percival assumes for himself what he was going to say and starts moving very slowly, overwhelmed by the tightness and warmth he feels there.

”Just— for _you,_ ” Credence manages to breathe out this time, cheeks flushed a deep red and shoulders growing pinker by the minute— it’s a curious process, in his case, but a marvellous one at that; a miracle of peachy pink spots bursting in soft trails along the veins and muscles, complimented by nebulous blemishes of misty smoke, the Obscurus poking through and writing summery nights in goosebumps on his flesh—

Because Credence is as seamless as light.

Percival smirks and starts dragging his teeth over his collarbone, slowly, terribly slowly, and Credence groans and whines, asking his husband to go harder and deeper and _faster,_ and _boy,_ won’t Percival do just _that._

He uses his rough, calloused hands to caress Credence’s silky skin and gives him harder this time, burying himself deeper into his better half, and he groans because this is so good and _perfect_ and there’s nothing else he’d rather do than kiss the bones out of his baby, kiss the skin out of him and pull his insides upside down— the ache swelling and flowing from him, leaving only affection and the scent of love well-made in the cavities instead of scars and reminders of abuse.

Credence moans into the sweaty air around them, his short nails _(sweet, tender nails still sporting a lick of raspberry red Queenie bought him for his birthday)_ scratching against Percival’s strong arms and _god,_ he’s like incandescent fire burning so bright the whole world is going to be swallowed up into it, and he can’t stop moaning, again and again until his cock is dripping between them; Percival puts an end to his torture by making him come between them, the lace ending up draped in white, and there’s a wrecked sob of pleasure crawling through Credence’s lips that tips Percival over the edge. He comes inside him, hard, his name pouring out of his mouth in breathless bursts as Credence rotate his hips and pushes himself down on Percival’s cock again, their eyes never leaving one another.

Credence hums gently, nuzzling into Percival’s neck like a cat, warm and happy, and they stay like that for a while, intertwined and kissing each other languidly. Come leaks from Credence's hole for a while as they spend time relishing in the bond they’ve grown to create and the tightness of it, through thick and thin, their rings glowing softly into the quiet light of the evening, orange and pink melting together to produce hues ghosting over their combined skins.

 


End file.
